These have been days of late as perfect as can be fantasized about for spring. Let's start with the weather; days of sunshine, even those days when it has also rained. April gave us ample rain and May entered continuing the formula of rain and sun, the most appealing combination to convince all green growing things to manifest themselves, leave their winter underground abode for the opportunity to thrill the gardener or the wildflower enthusiast.

 

The appeal of yesterday's just-perfect weather saw us out good and early, catering both to Jackie and Jillie, and to our own need of communing with nature. Nature reciprocated as generously as ever she does. An abundance of coltsfoot are still in evidence, although the earliest blooming ones are now going to seed, just as dandelions do, changing their head-dress from a bright yellow halo, centred with orange, to a fluffy-white nimbus.

 

There are ferns popping up everywhere on the hillsides and the lower reaches of the forest floor, unfurling in that old familiar curlicue that bespeaks the presence of green-bitter edible fiddleheads. Along with the ferns the trout lilies are now in full bloom, colonizing the forest with their delicate nodding heads of soft golden petals.

 

 

As we hiked uphill and down, through the forest on various winding and interconnecting trails, we heard owls and cardinals praising that beautiful day. The cardinals in a paean of appreciation,the owls having a back-and-forth conversation. Now and again we'd be met by one or another, or sometimes several at a time, neighbourhood dogs out with their companions enjoying the day. One by one, or two by two, stopping beside us for the Cookie Man to react as anticipated.

Before we left the forest, on one of the upper trails we discovered a newly-emerged garter snake, perfectly positioned to catch the rays of the sun, warming itself after its long, cold and damp winter hibernation under the soil and leafmass of the forest floor. Jackie and Jillie usually don't notice snakes, but this time they did, and were curious. The little reptile partially lifted its head, opened its jaw menacingly (hah!) and they stepped back, curious but cautious.

 

Later, we two went off for the second time in as many days, to a local plant nursery to see what we could see. What we saw was the rapturous sight of rows upon rows of colourful plants begging to be taken home, knowing how much our garden yearns to welcome them. The day previously we came home with begonias and zinnias and million bells and lobelias and chrysanthemums, prepared to leave them in the garden shed should the weather turn cold again.

And yesterday another adventure in selecting plants had us consulting each other and making careful choices, both perennial and annual; more begonias to be sure, Canna lilies and Shasta daisies and a cornucopia of fillers, fulfilling our ambition to be prepared to plant in a week or so hence. Oh, the heady experience of walking through a greenhouse, the overwhelming sensuality of the sweet fragrance of the blooms!

 

As the weather turns warmer, thoughts of transitioning from cold-weather fare begin to nudge my cooking consciousness. And so I begin to set aside the kind of cuisine that's so comforting on icy winter days, and dredge my memory's recipe files for other, alternative meals. That was the case evening before yesterday and it will increasingly be so, as we steadily move from midspring to early summer. A fresh garden salad seemed about right, pairing it with a fish chowder; different taste sensations to freshen our appetites.

 

 

As for baking desserts, fruit combinations come to mind, and pies containing those fruit choices seem appropriate. Which meant, because I had apples that needed to be used, they were sliced, dredged with cornstarch and sugar, dampened with cranberry juice, then simmered until the juice had thickened and the apples were just about cooked. The steaming apples are introduced to a few tablespoons of butter, lots of cinnamon and last, raisins. All that's left to do is to roll out pie crust and bake the pie. As soon said, as done!

 

It was still fairly early by the time I got a chicken soup simmering on the stove for our evening meal, and the weather beckoned. Another blissful day of 20C, with the sun swimming happily in the vast ocean of the blue sky, warming the atmosphere to the extent that the gentle breezes that persisted most of the day were very welcome.

 

Jackie and Jillie shared part of their hike through the forest trails with two neighbouring dogs they've known for years who just happened to be coming through the trails as we were. They were all so absorbed in the aromas lifting from the forest floor they barely spent any more than the cursory backend sniff between them, before it was nose to the ground again.

 

Our eyes were busy, as it happened, looking out for more woodland wildflowers and we weren't disappointed. Trout lilies have spread their early-spring-blooming colonies over the years, and the plants themselves seem far more productive of flowers. In one area where the ridges and hillsides of the ravine rise above the trail far below street level, there are more flowers in bloom than we can ever recall; delightful, fragile and searching for the sun, the trout lilies with their soft, bright yellow and pale red stamens are a delight to the eye.

 

We came across other neighbourhood dogs out with a major focus on acquainting themselves with community news, and whenever they realize that the Cookie Man is in neat proximity they make a proverbial beeline for  his location, happy to be re-acquainted, and placidly sitting before him while making the statement that their good behaviour merits at least two cookies each.

 

Even the pair of Mallards were out yesterday, in an area of the creek we'd never seen them in before, steaming through a screen of saplings on the bank of the creek, just beginning to fill out with tender new foliage. We also noted that a few of the first of the spring woodland violets are displaying themselves; for the present, the emphasis is on 'few', but it won't be long before they begin springing to life everywhere.

 

 

At home, in the garden, we were surprised by the larger of our two magnolia trees; seemingly overnight, courtesy of the warmth and the sun the buds that had informed us throughout the winter months that this would be a good flowering year for the trees, had begun to open their bright pink flowers, a sight to behold.

 

For a change, the weather prognosis for today was wrong, and we were glad. Instead of another day of rain, we had occasional bursts of sun freeing itself from the general cloud cover and at a daytime temperature of 20C, that made for a balmy day. Thursdays are busy with laundry but that didn't keep me from inviting Jackie and Jillie out to the backyard for occasional garden inspections. Peonies are beginning to come up, so are the lilies and the irises. Although the magnolia trees are full of flower buds they seem in no great hurry to bloom, and the crabapple trees may very well beat them at it.

 

 

I've been digging weeds out of the grass and the garden plots, and just when I think I've got the last one, a day or two later a few more arrogantly confront me -- and out they come! Jillie likes to sit on the deck when I'm out with her, so she can bark at any sound or movement she detects. Jackie has a tendency to follow me around, curious about what I'm doing. Several days ago when I went out with them to the backyard, the hare was sitting beside the smaller of the two garden sheds. Neither Jackie nor Jillie detected its presence, so for the short time we were outside, the hare just sat there; alert but seemingly comfortable.

 

Early this afternoon when we entered the forest and were about to descend into the ravine, our eyes were caught by the presence of a bird with a bright red cap. Just a little fellow; we were in quite close proximity to it, and it appeared unconcerned. We watched as he (the female of the species doesn't wear a red cap) flew from tree to tree, then settled on a fallen log. Hairy woodpeckers are not an unusual sight in the forest, but when they're this bold and we can see them from close range, we can admire their beauty.

 

 

A warm day, as it turned out, so that was pleasant. Much less the muck underfoot, fine on some parts of the trail, but an impediment to complete relaxation on others, as we gingerly made our way off-trail when the dark slush became too prevalent and deep. But these are the conditions that early spring-flowering wildflowers revel in, and we came across a large number of trout lilies blooming in colonies throughout the forest.

 

A week earlier on a similar weather-day; mostly overcast and a little cooler, there were scant few trilliums to be seen flowering. A different story altogether, today. Trilliums galore, casting their bright crimson petals to the illuminating light of the sun. We did a brief side-tour down one of the hillsides to see whether a small patch of white trilliums that we see year after year were yet in residence, but it was too early for their presence; we'll give them another several weeks.

 

At another short trail we paused briefly, knowing where an unusual trillium usually shows up, doubting that it would be there, but there it was, a smaller incarnation than we've been accustomed to seeing, but blooming nonetheless, its petals pale pink and beautifully striped. Its flowerhead bowed deeply toward the forest floor, a dainty, tiny plant, relatively rare and highly appreciated.

 

 

Because it was such a beautiful day we had decided to take a longer circuit than we usually do, and so we went along a network of trails, enjoying the temperature and a calming, cooling breeze. Whenever the sun did emerge for brief periods, it was warm enough wherever we were exposed so that I could feel a light halo of moisture along my hairline above my forehead. 

 

And from time to time we entertained visitors. Dogs little and large. All well-behaved, eager to be noticed and recognized and their message interpreted accurately: we're here, your fans, come to say hello, and patiently waiting for you to withdraw that bag you always fill before departing your house, just in case we happen to drop by -- which we very much appreciate, and thank you for, Cookie Man!

 

Just shortly before we left the forest, on our way to street level, we were more than a little surprised to see white blossoms on several small trees in the understory under the forest canopy. The tiny white blossoms, similar in shape to small daisies, would bear fruit in midsummer. They're known as Saskatoon berries, an early blooming fruit-bearing tree.

 

Nature is , as usual, taking a convoluted route toward spring. Seldom does she agree to move directly and firmly from late winter to early spring. Rather than the highway of non-stop destination, she takes unpaved back roads that frustratingly seem to lead back to where we came from. Yesterday was wonderfully balmy with a light breeze, occasional sun and a temperature of 20C. Today, however, we stepped back several weeks in the transition, the temperature stuck as12C, with a brisk wind under completely clouded skies.

 

It was such a lovely day yesterday that we favoured a much longer hike in the ravine. We saw the first of the fiddleheads, as ferns begin unfurling on the forest floor. Chickadees and nuthatches were enjoying the day, just as we were. We sighted another hairy woodpecker hard at work, and mistook a hawk roosting on a branch of a pine for an owl, until several crows rousted it from its perch and it flew off into the forest interior.

 

More of the trilliums have begun blooming; bright pops of crimson on the otherwise still-sere transitional landscape. In the forest creek where the water, while not yet crystal, had begun clearing from its clay-occluded state of the week, more or less confirming our speculation that work is being done upstream that has impacted the water quality of the creek the ducks were in residence.

 

We came across someone walking two delightfully impish and tiny puppies; the male a Maltese and the little female a Yorkie. They were so small that our two small-breed dogs virtually towered over them. The little Maltese kept flopping over on his back, wanting to be played with, and tummy-rubbed.

 

Today, we took a shorter route. I had put a small roast in the oven for dinner before we left. It was quite late, since today is one of my regular house-cleaning days. Yesterday, after our ravine  hike I took the time and the opportunity while rain held off to plant the gladiola and dahlia bulbs I've been anxious to put into the ground. Today I took a brief time off from cleaning to zip outside and unload the used coffee grounds I've been collecting on our blue and our pink hydrangeas, hoping that this would encourage the production of blooms in a few months' time. It worked last year, somewhat.

 

 

Sure enough, once out in the forest we could see that the creek was once again full of clay. On previous occasions we'd looked for the Mallards and it became clear they had absented themselves. Today, however, they were serenely floating about, the female ducking her head continually underwater for algae, despite the quality of the water.

 

Jackie and Jillie were oblivious to all the distractions that took our attention. Their focus is, unfailingly, on the messages that other dogs in the community who venture through the forest leave as community news. 

 

My gardener's heart exulted when this morning dawned brightly and heightened temperatures seemed in the offing. Today, after all, despite the long-range weather forecasting warning of rain for the following four days, would be giving us a respite. My intention to plant the gladiola and dahlia bulbs could proceed after all. And then the rain could erupt and all would be well in my little gardening world. First things first, though; we would take the puppies out for a prolonged ravine hike in such glorious weather. 

The workout would do us all well after our Saturday morning indulgence in having too much to eat for breakfast, in a completely relaxed mood. What could go wrong, the sun was out, not a cloud in the sky, the temperature was steadily rising and was already nudging 20C, and nature called! On such a lovely day we agreed we would take our time, choose a longer circuit, mosey about and make the most of this opportunity.

 

And so we did. Mind, for the most part the interior forest landscape is muted. Drab. Vacant of much of interest on the forest floor. Yet there's a faint mist of green over the forest canopy and tender green shoots tinged with red are steadily making progress. Wild raspberry canes are looking lively with green shoots, the hazelnut shrubs have lost their catkins replacing them with green shoots, red florets falling from the maples have been replaced with green, honeysuckle shrubs are greening and it won't be long before they flower.

 

And the emerging wildflowers; we planned to skirt the patches of forest floor where we know the wildflowers tend to erupt, just to see how they're faring in this in-between time of frosty nights and rainy days interspersed with sun and occasionally moderate daytime temperatures. Jackie and Jillie leading the way, we meandered here and there. We ogled the landscape and they zeroed in on alluring odours.

The first of the foamflowers are beginning to make an appearance, and trilliums are popping up, along with trout lilies here and there, but we were headed for areas where they were less random in appearance, where they tended to colonize certain areas. Before that occurred we ran into a fellow forest hiker who had asked us how to visually identify hawks and owls, and we had advised him to look about at a certain area, where we'd seen an owl roosting the day before. He had looked, he said, but found nothing.

 

And just then, two crows rustled by and nearby another more rounded, larger form with striped wings flew through the trees, then descended directly into the creek. None other than the barred owl whose presence we had been discussing. We'd never seen owls other than securely roosting on trees in the forest canopy. The owl rose from the creek, moved swiftly from one vantage point to another, briefly pausing at each, then flew off.

The further we proceeded the more the opportunities presented. As for example, a large (relatively speaking) hairy woodpecker busy nearby, and countless chickadees flitting about in the forest interior. And, of course, the sound of crows. A sound that we both enjoy. Then the colonies of trout lilies began to appear, and it was surprising to see that unexpectedly some were bearing flower buds, since so few of the plants among hundreds of them, tend to flower.

 

Anticipating a blush of newly-opened purple trilliums, on the other hand, while there were ample numbers of trilliums, none appeared to be convinced it was time to fully bloom. Still, it was satisfying noting their presence and the early abundance. Until we finally were greeted by a pair fully blooming, as exceptions to the majority. 

 

Ascending back to street level, we stopped awhile to speak to a few neighbours, one of whom was chopping wood for next winter's storage. Others passed by with the intention of making as most of the opportunity to get out while the weather held, as possible. And I was anticipating planting summer-blooming Dahlias and Gladiolas into the ground, their corms would be well watered by impending rain. When suddenly the first drops heralded the rest of the day given over to rain, and my opportunity passed.

Today has been a day of pleasant surprises. First one occurred when we saw it was 9C this morning, not the 0C we had yesterday morning. Which inspired a sunny breakfast with a big smiley-face and the anticipation that we'd enjoy a beautiful spring day. Until we looked at the paper which gave the forecast informing us that the wide blue sky that had shone uninterruptedly last night, hosting a brilliant spring moon would cloud over by afternoon, dismissing the morning sun as high winds picked up and rain began.

Since we had an afternoon appointment at the veterinarian clinic, we decided we'd go out earlier than usual with Jackie and Jillie to enjoy a long circuit through the ravine's forest before the weather turned. Even though we were out early, clouds had moved in, the sun was cloistered and the wind turned the mild temperature slightly tempestuous. Still, mild enough that Jackie and Jillie needed no sweaters for comfort.

 

We weren't out long before we had a surprise visitor; Millie suddenly appeared before us, eagerly greeting the Cookie Man and offering to relieve him of some of those cookies weighting down his pack. He was happy to oblige, we hadn't seen her in such a long time. Even Jackie and Jillie were happy to see Millie, since if she was getting big cookies, they could cadge little ones for themselves.

 

Even with the wind and the disappearance of the sun, the temperature had nudged up to 18C, so the day demanded we make the most of our opportunity to enjoy a fine midspring day. We are so familiar with the terrain that we know where to look for wildflowers that tend to colonize specific areas on the forest floor. I wanted to see whether the trout lilies had begun to make an appearance, even the trilliums. What we did see is that the lilies-of-the-valley that had already erupted in the areas we most generally frequent had yet to make an appearance anywhere along the larger circuit.

 

But the trout lilies, although not yet in flowering mode (and they wouldn't flower unless the sun was out to begin with) were there in abundance, and to our great gratification so too were the purple trilliums beginning to make their appearance in other familiar areas. 

 

 

The forest floor on the forest plateau above the ravine where we soon found ourselves, remains saturated from all the rain that has occupied our days of late. Assuring us that before long our walks will be accompanied by hordes of mosquitoes, not  yet in evidence.

 

Our morning adventure had more in store for us, in spring flora and fauna appearances. Up in the forest canopy we could hear crows assembling and calling. And looking up in their direction, where some were settling on the trees, nearby there was a barred owl in residence. We hear the  owls on occasion, but haven't actually seen them for quite awhile. But there was a fellow, looking down at us. We returned the compliment, then moved on.

 

Approaching the forest creek, preparing to mount one of the bridges, we looked for the presence of the Mallards, and found them too in residence. Mrs. Mallard, as usual, busy eating algae, with her mate paddling next to her. They too were making the most of a beautiful day. And nor were they the only ones for not far from their aquatic picnic lunch, we saw a flash of black-and-white and realized that a Hairy woodpecker had entered the scene, busying itself on a tree trunk, perusing it up and down for the best vantage point it could domineer for its lunch.

 

So many geographic areas of the world are facing prolonged drought situations. In Western Canada longstanding drought conditions led last year to the worst wildfire season on record. And from all indications of the current situation there may very well be a repeat. I read this morning over a leisurely breakfast of French toast that in Kenya, ongoing drought has led to the death of herds of cows. There has been a long association with milking cattle in parts of Kenya evidently, particularly among their pastoral people. Increasingly, and steadily, Kenyans are beginning to change their traditional farming from reliance on milking cows to milking camels, animals equipped by nature to withstand drought conditions.

 

Our area in central Ontario has no such problems with a lack of rain this spring, even though we had a very low snowpack over the winter months this year. Spring rain has made up for the sparse snowfalls. We're never short of sunshine, so it's safe to say, for now at any event, that we're fortunate in having enough of both to balance things out nicely while Climate Change continues to alter normal weather patterns just about everywhere in the world.

We barely managed a quick, short circuit in the ravine yesterday with Jackie and Jillie before the rain which had randomly stopped, started again on our return home. In between rain events the brilliant spring sun poked its way through dense clouds now and again. So we needed both raingear and sun glasses.

 

This morning, no rain came down. One thing about all the rain, it's greened the grass up wonderfully well. The wild rabbit that we usually feed through the winter months along with others of our wild neighbours appears for the first time that I can recall, to be eating our tulips; not the bulbs but the hopeful green spears that appear long before flower heads are raised. We've been looking forward to seeing the bright colourfully insouciant heads of the spring bulbs. The rabbit hasn't touched the scilla and those tiny bulbs are blooming, but I have my doubts about the tulips.

 

There isn't too much at this early juncture to be seen in the forest. Lots to be heard, though. Crows are gathering in little groups, and their calls ring through the forest canopy. On occasion we'll hear the owls in deep discussion with one another, and yesterday we saw a downy woodpecker, while today the treat was a nuthatch and chickadees. New sprouts of green growth are beginning to appear, and the Red Maples' flowerettes are now everywhere on the forest floor.

 

Halfway through our circuit this afternoon, Jillie's enthusiastic barks alerted several of her longtime friends of our presence. Suddenly the pair of Doodlesomethings hoved over the horizon and came stampeding down from an upper trail to inform us that they've unaccountably missed us lately; where've we been? And did we remember to bring along cookies for them?